A Little Something
by eTara
Summary: Cristina and Owen plus one.
1. Prologue

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.**

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Prologue

Sometimes, she could swear the image is painted on the backs of her eyelids. But not just the darkness of the room, the look of his blank face looming above her. No, when she closed her eyes, sometimes she could see her fear. The painful tightness under his hands, the burning in her lungs, all of it was visible. She thought of Meredith in the aftermath of the ferry boat accident, falling into the water and slowly sinking, drawing water instead of air into her lungs. Her lungs must have burned. Sometimes, Cristina's lungs still burned. Sometimes she woke up, shaking and gasping for air. Sometimes she locked herself in the bathroom. Sometimes, she still cried.

Just seeing him re-created the feeling, only it was less about her lungs and more about the physical ache in her chest. She loved him and she missed him, and more than anything she wanted to help him through this. And he very kindly, very politley, refused to allow her near him. Refused to be alone with her. Refused to "put her in that position".

She assumed it was because she broke up with him. They had made love, finally made love, and afterwards, it was over. In his arms, she realized she couldn't relax. And so it had disappeared for a moment, the ache to be with him. Because so much of the reason she wanted to be with him was because something about him allowed her to relax. Something about the way he looked at her convinced her that she wouldn't ever have to be anything but Cristina Yang, and he would love her anyway. He didn't have to say it, not in so many words. But she knew it. She knew it in the way she knew that the aftermath of their nightmare created something altogether different. Something she couldn't label yet. Because it wasn't a nightmare, but it wasn't a dream come true. It wasn't the worst thing that could have happened, and it wasn't the best thing that could have happened. It was just what happened after.

And she was so sure of this that she didn't pace, or clean, or or read, or do anything to pass the three minutes as she sat on the closed toilet lid, and waited for her life to change. Because this time, when she locked herself in the bathroom she wasn't escaping anything. She wasn't moving away from anyone. She was just confirming the inevitable. And she was so sure, that she'd only bought one test. A glance at her watch told her it was time, and she stood.

A plus sign sealed her fate. She let out the breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and slid the test back into its box before wrapping it in the plastic bag from the convenience store. She put the bag back into her oversized shoulder tote, because as comfortable as she had become with Callie, she wan't the first person Cristina would tell.

As she opened the bathroom door and finished moving about the apartment, getting ready for work, she surprised herself with how easy it was to breathe.


	2. Ch 1

He had survived a residency in general surgery, and a Trauma fellowship on top of that. And then he'd signed up with the Army and he'd survived weeks of Officer indoctrination and blowhards before then surviving multiple, horrifying tours in Iraq. A war zone. He could survive Cristina Yang. Or rather, he could survive staying away from Cristina Yang. But the woman didn't make it easy.

He'd requested Karev for his service today but somehow Cristina had talked Bailey into nixing that. And somehow Bailey had talked him into not putting up a fight, although truthfully she hadn't done much talking. He had opened his mouth to protest and she had said, "Dr. Hunt" in that way she had. And he had relented, because there was only so much avoiding that he could do. It had been over a month since it happened. It was time to move forward, handle things professionally. He couldn't avoid her forever.

Growing up, when his father was still alive, he had told him stories about the Nuns wrapping knuckles with rulers, was always surprised that this was one of the smaller of their brutalities. The stories were always told with humor, told from behind the protection of childhood mischief and happiness, but even as a boy Owen had been surprised by the violence of his father's teachers. Much like Bailey, his own teachers hadn't needed physical threats to keep him in line. Sometimes a look was enough.

It was why domestic abuse troubled him. It was unnecessary, gratuitous. Relationships were about respect, not fear. That was why it hurt so much, that Cristina was now afraid of him. How could they recover from that? There would never be any psychiatrist that would be able to tell him he would never have another nightmare, days, weeks, months, even years in the future. How could they possibly move past that? What did it even matter, if Cristina got over the fear? What did it matter if it could happen again?

It sickened him, that less than twenty-four hours after he'd been seconds away from taking her life, he had nearly allowed himself to fall asleep next to her again. It was a wanton disregard for her safety, all because there wouldn't be a night in his future when he didn't wish she was in his arms. He would have fallen asleep if she hadn't admitted she was afraid of him, of what he would do. He would have put her in danger again if she hadn't known her limits. His feeling for her blinded him to the reality of his situation, and he couldn't trust his instincts, or his decision-making. He'd made a consistent string of bad decisions since came back to Seattle.

And every time he sat down across from Dr. Wyatt he wanted to spill his guts. He wanted to tell her everything, because it helped. Every step he took to get help helped, and every step scared him. Because the moment he started feeling better, he started thinking about Cristina, imagining the life they would have once he was better. Every moment of relief was a step closer to his next bad decision.

"Your insurance pays for a limited number of sessions. Do you intend to waste all of them just staring at me?" Dr. Wyatt had asked, her voice full of challenge. He got the feeling it was one of her standard conversation-starters.

"I have money," he had said, obstinately, like a spoiled child. He had expected her to kick him out, tell him to find a new shrink and stop wasting her time. But she hadn't. Instead, she had smiled like the Cheshire Cat, and uncrossed and re-crossed her legs as she folded her hands in her lap.

Against his better judgment, he had started to talk. Although whether it could be called his better judgment, he didn't know. For once, he didn't know what was right. He didn't know what was appropriate. And he certainly didn't know what the answer was. Dr. Wyatt had significantly more answers than he did, because after one psych rotation in med school he had studiously avoided anything to do with the specialty. And he had talked about what he'd done to Cristina, about his inability to remember it. About how truly horrified he was, to have done this to her. And that she hugged him afterwards? That she had tried to reassure him?

The statements had come out jumbled and piecemeal. The first time he described Cristina's reaction, a look of confusion crossed Dr. Wyatt's face. And then something else entirely. It could have been a smirk. He knew Meredith Grey had sat on this couch, and looked at these same fish. Had Cristina? He couldn't picture it happening. It occurred to him then, that maybe Meredith had mentioned Cristina in her own sessions. That perhaps Dr. Wyatt recognized the name of the female surgical resident, knew that Derek Shepherd had referred Owen to her office and then connected the dots.

"She's been supportive, then," Dr. Wyatt had said, asking for clarification on information she clearly wasn't ready to trust. "Your girlfriend's been understanding, and supportive."

"She's not--" he had stopped then, unable to finish the thought. _My girlfriend._ It was such a trite term for what they had. An inappropriate label to attach considering the level of the connection he felt with her, the power of his feelings for her. "We're separated."

Dr. Wyatt's response to that had caught him off guard. She had nodded thoughtfully, and said, "An interesting choice of words. Separated implies the potential for reunion. So you're hopeful about this relationship. You're hopeful about the future."

"We broke up," had been Owen's stubborn response.

"Owen?" Cristina's voice drew him out of his daydream, and he winced at the way he jumped at the sound of her voice behind him. He spun too quickly, and she took a step back reflexively, and the feelings came all over again. The gasping choking sounds as she pushed at his chest, using his body as a platform from which she launched herself, and ran to the bathroom. The slamming of the door. The turn of the lock. All over again he was frightened, and disoriented, and looking at his hands as Callie stood in the doorway looking down at him where he sat, Cristina's nightstand digging into his back.

"Cristina, good," Owen said, nodding. "There's a trauma coming in. We should make our way down to the ambulance bay and--"

"Now?" Cristina asked. He must have given her an odd look. "I mean, are they here now? Because I have something I need to te--"

"Yes," he cut her off, plastering a fake smile on his face. The effort made him uncomfortable. "We should get moving." He stepped forward, hoping that she would move out of the doorway to his office. But it was only one step, because one more and he would be too close to her. Close enough that she might flinch. Because sometimes, she did. Sometimes she flinched. And each time it felt like a betrayal. Each time it tore him apart, and he was surprised by the power of his reaction. The way his eyes almost watered, the sudden onset of nausea.

She nodded, but didn't move. "Then later. We'll talk later?" She stood still and looked at him, forcing the issue. He nodded, and wished he wasn't so content to lose this small battle of wills.

Because this is how it happens. Losing control of things happens just like this. One concession. One mistake. It was the same beginning to every tragedy ever written. The proverbial slippery slope. The snowball effect. The road paved with good intentions. He had the sneaking suspicion that, once they started down this road, there was no turning back.


	3. Ch 2

They had been blissfully busy all day, and so when he sent her to do post-ops he hoped it wasn't too obvious he was trying to avoid being in the same room with her. Multiple times during the day they'd been close enough to touch. Hovering over one patient in the OR, they had brushed against each other, and Owen had had to make an effort not to let his reaction show.

All he'd wanted to do in that moment was draw her into his arms and tell her that he was trying, and that maybe things were getting better. That twice a week he sat across from a confrontational harpy who ripped him to shreds over and over again just by asking him questions he felt oddly compelled to answer. He wanted to tell her that each time it got a little bit easier. But he couldn't tell her that, because it was too much like hope. It was too much like admitting that all he wanted was to be with her again. So instead, he asked her to do post-ops.

She had been about to say something to him, and had bristled when he sent her away. He had pretended not to notice, had turned to leave, when she spoke. "I was actually hoping we could talk."

"And I was hoping you could go check on the patients we cut open today," he said, a little too harshly, before turning and walking away.

She'd been holding pen in her hands when he said it, and as he turned his back on her and he half expected her to throw it at his head. He would have deserved it. He would have deserved it but hoped that she wouldn't, because if she had he would have had to laugh. He would have been forced to laugh at his ridiculous avoidance tactics, and then she might have smiled. It wouldn't have been a big smile, it would have just been one corner of her mouth turning up at the corner. It would have been almost imperceptible, and if it would have happened he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from kissing that petulant little smile off her face.

"So you're avoiding Cristina?" Dr. Wyatt asked. He half wished she would take some notes. If for once she could look distracted, it might not be so bloody painful to sit across from her, totally exposed.

It was Owen's turn to bristle. "We both have jobs to do. Asking her to do her job is not inappropriate."

Dr. Wyatt nodded, and Owen felt his jaw clench. It wasn't that she nodded. It was the bitchy knowing way she nodded. And the way she looked almost pleased when his body tensed, the way it did now. Pleased that she'd hit a nerve, or stumbled onto something. But 'stumbled' wasn't the accurate description at all. This woman never stumbled onto anything.

He glanced at his watch, feeling relieved they only had ten minutes left. He relaxed a little, since the last ten minutes were always spent wrapping things up. She never pulled out the big guns in the last ten minutes.

Dr. Wyatt must have noticed the change in his posture, because she cocked her head to one side and said, "Tell me again about the kid who killed himself. The one who sent you the thank you letter."

_It's like being stabbed in the heart,_ Owen thought as the air and the fight went out of him. _Coming here was like being stabbed in the heart_.

"I know you think I'm trying to break you," Dr. Wyatt said to his accusing glare. "I'm not trying to break you. We need to do this, Owen. We need to do this, over and over again, because doing it over and over again is the only thing that works. So tell me about the kid who got home safe. Tell me about the one who killed himself. What was he like?"

Owen closed his eyes on the tears, felt one slip out before he could catch it with the motion. He felt it track its way down his cheek.

There was silence in the room as Owen prepared to speak. He opened his eyes to see Dr. Wyatt, and caught the way her face had softened when she thought he wasn't looking. Sighing, Owen started speaking, and was surprised by the way his voice came out. Clear and strong, for once not shaking. "He was a talker. He would talk about everything but mostly," Owen shook his head, "mostly he talked about home." He didn't know if she was right. He didn't know if it hurt less. "He just wanted to go home."


	4. Ch 3

There was a chill to the night, and Owen shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded green jacket. He didn't surprise himself by not walking toward his truck, and instead exited the building out of the ambulance bay and made his way to Cristina's building. He wasn't sure when he'd decided to go to her, but for once he didn't question the instinct.

Callie Torres opened the door wearing a sweater, a scarf and holding a cup of hot chocolate. "Owe- Er, Dr. Hunt?"

He found himself smiling. "Owen's good, Callie."

Callie nodded, he expression turning soft. "She's not here."

He should have been relieved. Instead, he felt his heart sink. He hoped it wasn't a sign of things to come. A sign that, once he was ready, Cristina would be gone. "Are you—" he paused, searching for words. "Cold?"

Callie nodded. "I can't get a call back from the property manager. Or my dad. The heat isn't working. I'm about to go rent a couple rooms at the Archfield. Do you know anything about heat?" She asked hopefully, stepping back and swinging her arm, as if to invite him in.

_Do you know anything about heat? Owen_ chuckled to himself softly and stepped past her into the apartment. He pulled his hands from his pockets and made his way toward where he remembered the thermostat to be. "The first thing to try with the digital thermostats is to replace the batteries."

"It's not out of batteries, the display has power," Callie said, as if he were tech support and had asked her if the computer she'd been trying to turn on was plugged in.

Owen nodded. "Why don't you find me two AA batteries, and we'll troubleshoot a little."

It was then that Callie knew that she'd spent the better part of her day off wearing a scarf, drinking thousands of calories worth of hot chocolate and sleeping under two down comforters all because digital thermostats have batteries and she was a 'the pilot light is out' kind of girl. She searched found have a pack of AA batteries, pulled out two and handed them to Owen.

The heat was up and running almost immediately, but Callie was grateful to see Owen had the decency to look sheepish when they heard the first rush of air through the vents as the system powered up. She blushed slightly, mumbled a 'thank you' and started un-wrapping the scarf from around her neck. Owen made his way to the door.

"I'll tell her you stopped by," Callie offered, "I don't think she was expecting you, I'm sure she would have—"

"No, she wasn't. I don't know why I came here. It's just a couple times today she was trying to tell me something and—" he stopped, found himself looking down guiltily at the toes of his shoes.

"Well, I'll tell her," Callie said.

Owen shook his head. "You don't have to...I know you and Meredith...I understand."

Callie shook her head, and surprised herself when she put a hand on his arm. Meredith and Cristina both knew Owen was in treatment, because Derek knew. And Callie knew because she'd heard Meredith and Cristina talking about it. And as horrifying as seeing Cristina being choked had been, Callie understood, as much as she could, that it hadn't been about anger, or frustration, or any of the other reasons that abused women ended up in the hospital. Because Cristina wasn't in an abusive relationship. Or hadn't been. "I'll tell her."

Owen nodded, and let himself out the door. He jogged down the stairs, thinking of the last ten minutes of his session. The emotions were still there, but they were getting easier to control. He wasn't becoming desensitized to them, he was learning to understand them, and direct them. Repeated exposure to the memories brought them to the surface, and with the repeated exposure it became apparent that it wasn't the end of the world to have the feelings.

At the bottoms of the stairs he nearly knocked Cristina on her ass as she turned the corner, headed up to her apartment. He put his arms out to steady her. He hair was down, still slightly damp from a recent shower, her noise slightly red from the chill outside.

"Owen," she said, and he dropped his arms to his sides, then, thinking better of it, shoved his hands into his pockets. "What are—Is everything okay?" she asked. She'd changed into her Stanford sweatshirt and jeans, all thrown under a black wool pea coat. She looked so beautiful it hurt. He wanted her so much it hurt.

He cleared his throat. "No, I, yes, everything is fine. It's just I promised you that we would talk, and we didn't. We never got a chance to talk."

Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. He could tell she was trying to keep from pointing out that he was the reason they 'never got a chance' to talk. But she held her tongue, thinking better of it, and looked down at the small brown paper bag in her hand.

There was a moment of silence, and Owen was to back out of the conversation, to tell her as it turned out he had to get back to the hospital, that he'd been paged, when she spoke. She didn't look at him, and instead she spoke to the glass case that housed the fire extinguisher, perched on the wall to his left. She told the fire extinguisher, "I knew what I was going to say, earlier. I knew what I was going to say."

Cristina closed her eyes and drew in a breath, and suddenly he didn't want to hear it. Because what if she was going to say that she was seeing someone? That she wanted him to know before word got around the hospital, that she was seeing another man. That they hadn't agreed that she would wait for him. And that she hadn't waited for him. It made sense now, the way Callie had invited him in. If Cristina was seeing someone else, then he wasn't a threat anymore, and they wouldn't have to keep them apart.

Instead of speaking, Cristina looked into his eyes and shook her head, then shoved the paper bag into his hands. "Here, look."

_Or not,_ Owen thought. He reached into the bag with a sinking feeling in his chest as his fingers wrapped around a prescription bottle. She was sick. He pulled out the pills and read the label. Cristina Yang. But he was suddenly confused, because she wasn't sick, she was—

"Pregnant," Cristina was saying. He swung his head up, his eyes searching face for some sign of her reaction. She looked—calm? Serene? Try as he might, he couldn't get a handle on her reaction. "We're pregnant," Cristina said.

A bottle of prenatal vitamins fell out of his hand and landed at their feet.


	5. Ch 4

_Before anyone freaks out, you'll get to see the rest of the reveal scene later, when told from Cristina's POV. So I don't want any complaining ;-P_

_thanks for all the reviews. they keep me going!_

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"But don't you think that's already been decided?" Dr. Wyatt asked curiously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She'd had a cancellation this morning, and for once he was grateful to have been able to get in and see her. Never mind that he'd just spoken with her yesterday.

He'd been worried that she wouldn't allow him to focus on Cristina's news too much during the session, because Dr. Wyatt made it clear in the beginning the purpose of the sessions were to deal with Iraq. That until they'd moved forward on that front, there was no point in discussing anything else. But Dr. Wyatt had settled into the conversation, allowing him to work through his thoughts out loud. Only in the process of the talk she made some pretty big assumptions about Cristina.

"No," Owen said, confused. "It's still very early. I don't think she'd decided what she's going to do at all. Whatever she wants to do, I'll support her, but this is—and I'm not—"

"But she's only about five weeks pregnant, Owen. She took a test in the morning and told you by the end of the day. You don't think that if she hadn't known what she was going to do, she'd have told you? That she wouldn't just wait and see what happens? You're both doctors, you both know how many pregnancies don't make it past the first trimester. Why not wait until thirteen weeks to tell anyone?"

Owen just shook his head. "I- no. I don't think she's decided. She would have said something if she'd decided. She would have told me whether she thought we should do it together, or not."

Dr. Wyatt shook her head. "But she did tell you," she pointed out. "Think about how she told you, Owen. Think about what she said."

Owen looked down at his hands, clenched into fists in his lap.

"What did she say?"

_We're pregnant_. Owen shook his head again. "No, I think you're reading too much into things."

Dr. Wyatt raised an eyebrow, and if not for the motor of the oxygen system on the fish tank, there would have been silence in the room. Owen drew in a shaky breath, wondering.

_We're pregnant_.

"Let's talk about the RPG ambush," Dr. Wyatt said, shifting gears.

Owen's head came up sharply, and he didn't bother trying to keep the wounded expression off his face. Dr. Wyatt just looked at him expectantly.


	6. Ch 5

She hadn't expected to find herself walking toward the OB/Gyn unit on her lunch break, but was even less expected to be handed a prescription and told to go to the hospital pharmacy on day she scheduled her appointment. She expected it was the fact that she walked into the clinic at the right time, when one of the OB residents was bored and looking for something to do. The resident had overheard her asking the front desk to schedule an appointment.

"How far along, do you think?" a tall brunette asked her. Cristina jumped a little, not expecting a third party to enter the conversation she was having with the clinic administrator.

"Um, five weeks?" Cristina said, hating the way she sounded so timid and unsure.

The brunette smiled. "General surgery is a tough residency, you must be nervous. If you have a minute right now I can take a blood sample. That way we'll have them on your appointment. Do you have someone here that you want to see?"

Cristina nodded. She didn't feel like eating in the lunch room, having to face Meredith and Alex and George and pretend everything was normal. "I have time now, and no, I don't have an OB yet."

The brunette extended her hand to Cristina. "Jennifer Clark."

Cristina nodded uncomfortably.

"Dr. Clark has an appointment next week," the clinic administrator offered.

Dr. Clark shook her head. "Oh, I think she'd rather see an Attending. Does Dr. Kill have anything?" she glanced at Cristina, "and don't worry about the name. He's excellent."

"The appointment with Dr. Clark is fine," Cristina told the administrator. Jennifer Clark smiled warmly, and wisked her away to an exam room to draw her blood. Cristina was surprised to be handed the script for prenatal vitamins. She'd stared at the piece of paper dumbly.

"Oh, God," Dr. Clark said, sensing Cristina's hesitation. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Yang. I should have asked earlier. Do we need to talk about options?"

Cristina looked up. "Cristina," she paused awkwardly. "Eight more months—that's a long time to be calling me 'Dr. Yang'."

Jennifer Clark had nodded, told Cristina to call her Jennifer and instructed her to pick up the pills at the hospital pharmacy.

Cristina had gone through the rest of her day on autopilot, showered in the residents locker room at the end of it all and showed up at the hospital pharmacy expecting to settle in for a long wait. She had a small paper bag in her hands almost immediately and it was then that she recognized what it was she was feeling. She was furious with Owen. She'd made every effort to do the right thing, to talk to him, and he'd brushed her off. They'd had a very limited number of personal exchanges since the incident in her bedroom and she'd given him space, and time. And he should have recognized that she wouldn't be coming to him now unless it was important. He at least owed her a conversation.

She walked home with impotent rage flooding through her veins, barely feeling the cold. She'd apparently been wrong when she'd assumed he wasn't a total jackass. What did he think? That she expected him to be healed? That she expected the twenty-seventh apology now that a few days had gone by where he didn't look at her with eyes so filled with sorrow that, for just one second, she forgot how to breathe? She didn't need any more apologies. She needed someone to talk to. And for once, she didn't need it to be Meredith.

After she'd finished with the post-ops she actually walked to Izzie's room, but stopped short when she saw Karev was already in there. Because of a weakened immune system from the toxins the oncologist sent coursing through her veins nearly every day, Izzie had developed a bout of pneumonia and ended up an inpatient again. She was so pale, and looked so frail, that Cristina felt foolish and selfish for wanting to come here and burden Izzie with her own problem. Izzie had enough problems. So instead she'd left quietly before either Izzie or Karev saw her loitering in the hallway and returned to the surgical floor to ask patients about their urine output.

Once inside her building she made her way toward the stairwell. She had just turned a corner when she caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye and the familiar smell of Owen's cologne invaded her senses. His arms shot out to steady her and she briefly considered just relaxing into his arms before she righted herself and took a step back in order to steady herself on her feet. Seeing him had taken the anger away and left her with the same confused fog she'd been operating in all day.

"Owen," she said, sad to feel the warmth of his hands leave her arms. The touch left her feeling warm and—and this was a surprise—safe. Looking a mix of uncomfortable and pained, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. What was he doing here? "What are—Is everything okay?" she asked.

He cleared his throat, but still spoke haltingly. "No, I, yes, everything is fine. It's just I promised you that we would talk, and we didn't. We never got a chance to talk."

She did her best to keep her negative reaction to this off her face, but could tell by his own expression that she failed. Cristina glanced down at the brown paper bag that housed her secret. It occurred to her, finally, that she didn't feel pregnant. That this didn't feel real. That at this point, she was just going through the motions. And once it did feel real, once the enormity of the situation settled itself onto her shoulders, would she still be chasing after him to tell him about it?

When she glanced back up at Owen he was looking twitchy and frightened, as if he were planning an escape. It was too painful to see, the way his guilt couldn't even allow him to relax in her presence. He'd made an effort coming here. _That was progress, wasn't it?_

And she couldn't blame him. She couldn't look at him when she said, "I knew what I was going to say, earlier. I knew what I was going to say." It wasn't exactly true. She'd had no idea what she was going to say.

Cristina closed her eyes and drew in a breath. It's now or never. But still she couldn't speak. She shoved the paper bag toward his stomach. Instinctively he reached out to grasp what was being handed to him. "Here, look."

He looked slightly ill as he opened the bag and withdrew the bottle of pills.

"I took a pregnancy test today, and it was positive. I'm pregnant." She paused. "We're pregnant."

He looked up at her, his eyes searching his face as he lost his grip on the bottle of pills and they fell to the ground between them. A faint smile wavered on his lips.

Afterward, she wouldn't be able to pinpoint how much time past before she ended up in his arms. It felt like only a split second before she was lifted nearly off the ground in what could have been most accurately described as a bear hug.

"We're not even married," he said stupidly into her hair.

An unexpected laugh bubbled up from Cristina's throat. She clung to him and rested her head against his as she muttered, "That's the least of our problems."

It was enough to suck the joy out of his reaction. "Oh, God," he said, letting her go and taking a step back. "Cristina, we need to talk about this."

She nodded, but held up a hand to stop him. "But not now. I don't want to know your first reaction. I want to know your reaction after you've thought about it. I need you to give me a week before we talk about this again. I don't want your first reaction," she said. Her real meaning hid behind the words. _I want the real reaction. Make it count._

He started to protest but she shook her head. "Don't follow me," she instructed, and took the stairs up to her apartment two at a time.

He didn't follow her, but called up after her, sounding helpless and alone. "I think we need to talk now."

She ignored him. And he didn't follow. And she shouldn't have been hurt or angry, that his first reaction was not to follow her. And she wasn't. She only felt relief as she let herself into her apartment and closed and locked the door behind her.

Callie looked up in surprise at her abrupt entrance. "Owen was here!" she blurted, as if passing a hot potato.

Cristina drew her eyebrows together. "Why is it so cold in here?"


	7. Ch 6

"So when is all this over?"

Dr. Wyatt narrowed her eyes and cocked an eyebrow. "When is what all over, exactly?"

"When are you done? Do you have a timeline? Do you have any sort of plan?"

"When am I done with what?"

"With your work. Or whatever."

"I'm not doing any of the work," Dr. Wyatt corrected. "Owen's doing all the work."

Cristina sighed irritably and glanced over at the fish tank. The woman was infuriating. The fish probably saw more progress then people dealing with this woman, and they just swam in circles.

"You're getting impatient." Dr. Wyatt said, a frown balancing on her mouth.

Cristina sniffed and refused to look at the woman.

"But you broke up with him. So what's the hurry? What's the hurry if you're just going to break up with him when he hits a road block?"

Cristina recoiled. "A roadblock? He—" she stopped short, then continued, her voice lower, "he choked me."

Dr. Wyatt nodded, satisfied. "Yes. Yes, he choked you. So when is that all over?"

"Pardon?"

"When do you deal with that?"

"I did deal with that. I broke up with him."

"You can only lie to me if you make an appointment in advance," Dr. Wyatt said, repositioning herself in her chair. "I think you should see someone, Cristina. A horrible thing happened to you, and I expect you're having trouble processing the feelings. It can't be easy, remembering what happened, living with what happened, but knowing that he wasn't awake for it. It must feel terribly unfair, that he didn't mean to hurt you. And yet you can't forget that he did. You shouldn't feel guilty for breaking up with him. It was self-preservation. He needed to get help."

"I don't feel guilty," Cristina said, and stood to leave. It had been a mistake coming here.

"I think you do," Dr. Wyatt said.

"Yeah, well," Cristina crossed the room and opened the door, "you're a terrible shrink."

Cristina walked out, and barely resisted the urge to slam the door behind her.


	8. Ch 7

"Do you love him?"

Cristina jumped slightly, unprepared to hear Izzie's voice. She'd been sleeping when Cristina came into her room and sat down at her bedside, and she'd been resting her head against the hospital bed, lost in her thoughts, when Izzie opened her eyes.

Cristina sat up, forced the corners of her mouth upward into a smile.

"Hey there," Cristina said, reaching for Izzie's hand. Izzie curled her fingers around Cristina's and held tight. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling like a woman with a surprising lack of charm or tact is poisoning me."

Cristina grinned. "So, as expected."

"I didn't replace Really Old Guy, did I?" Izzie asked, using her free hand to scratch at the back of her head. "You don't sneak in here while I sleep to eat and hide from Attendings do you?"

Cristina shook her head. "I just wanted to check on you before I left."

Izzie nodded. "Meredith said he's in treatment. So why are you sitting here with me?"

"Because we're friends, Izzie." Cristina said. "And I can show it now that you're not competing with me for surgeries. I would get it while the getting's good, once you're back in the OR I'm not promising anything."

Izzie's boisterous laugh, sudden and strong, all too soon descended into a fit of coughing. Cristina stood and reached for the water near her bed, handing Izzie the cup as she took her hand again. Izzie took a sip of the water and returned the cup to the table next to her bed. "You didn't answer me. Do you love him?"

Cristina looked down at where their fingers interlaced. She'd never said the words out loud, never admitted to anyone what had happened, before everything else. But she nodded. "Yes," she said, her voice flat and steady.

Izzie nodded and squeezed Cristina's hand. "Alex mentioned he's on call tonight. Why don't you go see him? I'm actually pretty tired of looking at you," she teased weakly, "There is such a thing as too much Cristina Yang."

Cristina frowned, knowing Izzie needed her friends around, that she drew strength from people in a way Cristina never had before coming to Seattle.

"It's okay," Izzie whispered, her eyes drifting closed. "Alex will be here soon."

Cristina nodded and picked up her coat. As she turned to leave she heard Izzie's voice behind her. "Last year, our intern year, for awhile I felt cut off from you and Meredith. When you had surgery, and I realized I didn't know anything about your life, it was like we were strangers that just happened to work in the same building. But that's not true," Izzie cleared her throat. "I know I'm not your person, that we'll never be like you and Meredith, but that's okay. I'm glad we're friends. I'm grateful that I had you here."

It felt too much like a something a dying person would say. Cristina wanted to tell her to shut up. She wanted to yell at her, to tell her to stop being so dramatic, that she wasn't dying. She wanted to push Izzie away, so that none of this could hurt so much. But that didn't work. Pushing people away didn't stop the hurt. So instead she stepped back to Izzie's bedside again.

"Don't tell anyone I said I loved him," she said. "I haven't told him yet. You're the only person that knows that about me."

Izzie grinned wickedly. "That's a crock of shit," she said. "Anyone with half a brain knows you love that man. Don't try to convince me I know any of your secrets."

"That explains how you figured it out," Cristina smiled softly and leaned in to hug Izzie. Unexpectedly, Izzie clung to her, holding on much tighter than Cristina had expected. "I'm scared, Cristina." She whispered.

Cristina nodded, did her best to overcome the waver in her voice when she said, "I'm scared, too."

It was the truth, and now it wasn't a secret. She was terrified.

Cristina pulled back and walked to the door, taking Izzie by surprise when she closed it. Izzie looked at her quizzically, her eyes widening when Cristina started to speak.

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_Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone. Reviews keep me motivated!_


	9. Ch 8

Cristina made her way toward the on call room where she knew Owen would be. She'd ruled out the emergency room and the operating room, and figured that he'd decided to get some sleep while he could. As she walked, Izzie's words echoed in her head.

_What do you think, Cristina? That he won't get better? That the treatment won't work? You think people come home to their spouses and decide they'll just sleep in separate bedrooms for the rest of their lives? Or get divorced? Owen will sleep next to a woman, again, Cristina. Don't you want it to be you?_

Izzie had told her to fight, like she was fighting, because what did it matter whether it was fair? What did it matter if she could raise a baby alone, or meet someone new? What did any of it matter if she loved Owen Hunt? It had been such an Izzie thing to say. All hope and rainbows. But Cristina clung to the advice. It had to be right answer. _Something_ had to be the right answer, and everything else she'd tried didn't work.

Cristina opened the door softly, expecting to see Owen bolt upright, as he usually did when she woke him. She expected to see him sit up, eyes wide, looking confused. But she must have caught him in a particularly deep sleep, because he dozed without moving on one of the beds, one arm thrown over his face. She felt a pang of disappointment, realizing he'd fallen asleep with his scrub top on, then chastised herself for it.

Cristina cleared her throat, not wanting to surprise him, but still he didn't stir. For a moment she considered turning around and walking out, but she didn't. Because Izzie was right. He would sleep next to a woman again. The thought of it being someone else sickened her slightly.

"Owen?" Crisitna said softly, stopping a couple feet away from the bed, just out of reach of an errant arm swing. Nothing.

"Oh My God, Dr. Hunt, it's an Emergency!" she half-yelled dramatically.

She expected him to jump. He didn't jump. He smiled, lifted his arm up and eyed her. He looked unsure. Probably because it had not been a week since she dropped the bomb on him. She realized then he probably wasn't prepared for a conversation. Didn't have an answer.

"Hey."

Owen started to sit up but Cristina shook her head. "No, don't get up. I just—" she stopped, the words getting stuck in her throat. She couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't tell him she just wanted to be held.

Cristina tossed her coat on one of the other beds and climbed up next to him, sighing in relief as Owen's arm snaked around her. He stroked her arm, and she thought he was probably trying to signal that he was awake, and that he wasn't closing his eyes, and that she was safe. And she noted then that surely he was getting better, because he hadn't startled at all when she came in. Had slept through her first tentative call of his name. And his body was relaxed in a way it hadn't been since the first time she'd met him, when he'd lowered his face inches from hers and yanked an icicle out of her abdomen, smirking playfully. For once, he wasn't on edge.

"I told Izzie," she said. "I told Izzie about the baby," she stopped. "I don't think she'd tell anyone but just in case she mentions something to you."

"Oh. Okay," he said, slowly. "You—um—you're telling people, then?" His voice was tentative, unsure. His chest was warm against her back and she didn't want it to end.

"Just Izzie. For now, just Izzie," Cristina said. And the words weren't lost on him. _For now_.

"I thought Meredith would be the first person you told."

"You were the first person I told."

He smiled, couldn't resist burying his face in her hair. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her shampoo. "I meant any of the others."

"The Others? You mean the other people on the island?"

He laughed at her joke, finding comfort in the normalcy of her teasing him about watching _Lost._

"The other _residents_," he said, not even trying to keep his grin out of his voice.

"Meredith would only worry," Cristina said. It broke Owen's heart. Meredith would worry because he had wrapped his hands around her best friend's throat and nearly choked the life out of her. Meredith would only worry because, if he wasn't aware it was happening the first time, how would he be aware the second time? Assuming that it would could. Cristina already admitted being afraid to sleep next to him. How on earth on earth could they handle a pregnancy? How could she ever even consider _not_ terminating the pregnancy, after what he'd done?

"Won't Izzie worry?" He wasn't sure why he asked. Maybe just to have something to say. Because if he stopped talking, would she worry he was falling asleep? He shifted, bringing the arm that wasn't wrapped around Cristina up, so that he could rest on his elbow, up off the pillow, as they talked.

"I know I said I wanted a week, but I—" Cristina paused when she felt him repositioning himself. She realized suddenly that he felt rigid against her, as if he were bracing for something. Cristina rolled in his arms, turning to face him. She looked up at him, willing herself not to ask him to tell her it would be okay. She didn't trust herself to keep her mouth shut so instead she kissed him.

Owen responded immediately, his lips parting and his hand moving up to bury itself in her curls. It was only when he felt her hand slip inside the waistband of his scrubs that it occurred to him what she'd said. He heard Dr. Wyatt's voice in his ear. _Think about how she told you, Owen. Think about what she said._

_I told Izzie about the baby._

The baby. It occurred to him then, finally, that Dr. Wyatt was right.

_Don't you think that's already been decided?_

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_Author's note: Don't forget to review (Pretty please)_


	10. Ch 9

_Author's note: Note the rating change. This story is rated M now (so if you search for it on the main board make sure and select "All ratings" instead of the standard K through T)._

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Owen dragged his mouth away from Cristina's, his heart pounding in his chest. Cristina's hand stilled, just inside of the waistband of his boxer-briefs.

"Owen?" Cristina asked, her breathing unsteady. She kept her eyes trained to his face, searching for some clue to what he was feeling.

"You're going to have this baby?" he asked, trying to keep his panic and his incredulity out of his voice even as the emotions bubbled to the surface. They'd only had sex once. They weren't married. They didn't live together. She wasn't physically safe with him. They'd broken up. How could she possibly be considering going through with this? Was she planning on doing it without him? Would she even feel safe letting him see the baby?

His heart felt like it was in his throat, and it was getting more difficult to breathe. Cristina's face was drawn in consternation as she watched him struggle.

"Stop freaking out," she hissed, worried that this would turn into a panic attack, or a full-blown emotional collapse. She couldn't handle another emotional upheaval right now. "Izzie has cancer. I'm pregnant. You don't get to be the one to freak out. So-- Stop. Freaking. Out."

Owen shook his head, "No, I'm not freaking out, I-" he was freaking out. A baby? She really thought a baby was a good idea?

"You'll get better," Cristina said, her voice firm. "You're getting better. We'll get through this."

_We'll get through this._

Owen drew her to him, hugging her close against his chest. Cristina closed her eyes, tried not to notice the way she could feel his heart racing in his chest.

"Together?" He asked. "You want to try it together? You'll let me—" he paused, searching for the right words. There weren't words for this. "Be involved?"

"You _are_ involved, Owen," Cristina said softly, her wrapping her arms around him, pushing her fingers into his hair as she took note of the way his heart slowed. Her own nerves subsided as he slowly relaxed, ducking his face into the nape of her neck. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Owen said, "I don't know if I trust myself, Cristina. I don't know if I can keep you safe. And it hurts. I want you so bad it hurts."

"I trust you," Cristina said. "We'll work it out. We'll figure it out."

It was true. Owen knew she trusted him. It was the only explanation for why she would put herself in danger like this. It was the only explanation for why she would be willing to go through this with him. But it was ridiculous, to expect her to live like this. They weren't married, had barely even started a relationship when they broke up. She was trying to be there for him, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out where her compassion was coming from.

Mercifully, his pager went off before he could say anything else.

* * *

"She doesn't seem like a person that would stay in a relationship and continue with a pregnancy out of pity or compassion," Dr. Wyatt said, her eyes narrowed as she watched him for some sort of sign of what he was thinking..

"So she's not warm and fuzzy," Owen said defensively. "She's a compassionate person. I know that. I've seen that."

"She loves you." _No. _It was tempting to believe. Hearing it made his chest hurt. How on earth could she love him after what he did?

"She's trying to take care of me."

"She wants to be with you."

_No._ "She just knows I want to be with her."

"You're not a bad guy. It's okay for her to love you."

"You aren't listening," he exploded, his voice raised. He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be yelling at his therapist, but this woman somehow managed to push all of his buttons at the same time.

"You're ignoring all of the evidence so you can wallow in self-pity and pretend you're a danger to her," Dr. Wyatt yelled right back. "And you're fucking it up. Does she know you love her? Or was the last thing you said to her about the baby really an insinuation that she should have an abortion?"

Owen recoiled physically. "That's not what I want!"

"She's pregnant," Dr. Wyatt said forcefully. "It's an emotional roller coaster. It's new and frightening and she's embracing it as best she can. For the life of me, I don't know why she isn't wondering where the hell you are."

Owen felt nausea building in the pit of his stomach. Next to him, fish swam in circles as the minutes ticked by.

Finally, Dr. Wyatt asked. "Where are you?" her voice was soft, prompting him. "You're not in Iraq, so where are you?"

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_A/N: Thank you, thank you for all the reviews. The feedback is appreciated. Keep them coming (please)._


	11. Ch 10

Izzie smiled sadly and shook her head. "Dead man walking," She teased softly, sucking in a ragged breath that was obviously difficult for her.

Owen's heart sank. Cristina had been here, and she'd obviously been upset. Dr. Wyatt was right. Of course she was upset. He could have kicked himself. He was such a fool.

Izzie coughed once, then sighed, closing her eyes. "You'll be okay, Dr. Hunt. She'll be okay. I've never seen her like this over anyone. It's how I know she'll be okay."

"Owen." While well-intentioned, her assurances ripped at him. "Cristina is upset," he whispered. It wasn't a question.

Izzie nodded. "She's furious." She paused, coughed again. "It's a sad furious, though." More coughing. "Don't ever get cancer, Dr-er Owen. Or pneumonia."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you with this. I was just looking for Cristina."

Izzie shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "It's not a bother. To feel included, it's—" she stopped short, smiled sadly. "It's not a bother."

"What are you doing here?" Cristina's voice sounded behind him.

Owen turned abruptly. She had the day off, was in street clothes with her hair pulled into two braids. She had an armful of magazines and bag of potato chips. He watched the efficient way she moved as she put the chips and the magazines next to Izzie's bed. When she'd spoken to him her tone had been cold, but there was a hurt in her eyes he hadn't seen since her fight with Meredith over the table when they operated on the death row inmate. He hadn't been there for her that day, when she'd accused him of running hot and cold. She hadn't been able to talk to Meredith, and he hadn't been there for her. He was no more of a help to her this time.

"I was looking for you." He said. "I actually stopped in to see Dr. Wyatt today and I—" he glanced at Izzie nervously.

"Oh, don't mind the dying patient," Izzie said, drawing her covers up further, looking suddenly exhausted.

"You're not dying," Cristina and Owen said at once.

"Jinxies," Izzie whispered hoarsely. She smiled, her eyes drifting closed as Cristina grabbed an extra blanket off a nearby chair and spread it over Izzie's legs. She brushed Izzie's hand and stepped back, then motioned for Owen to follow her out of the room.

"What do you want, Owen?" She asked, and he was a little surprised to find that Wyatt had been right. Cristina was hurt and angry. She'd hidden it well, last night in his arms, but after having time to process his stupidity she'd obviously decided she was not okay with it.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak Izzie's oncologist walked by, headed for the door.

"She's sleeping," Cristina told her as Dr. Swender reached for the door knob.

Dr. Swender turned, and cool brown eyes assessed Cristina. "They're always sleeping, Dr. Yang. We are running toxins through her blood and it is an exhausting process. So yes, she sleeps a lot. She'll fall back asleep."

With that Swender turned and walked into Izzie's room, closing the door behind her. Owen got the feeling it wasn't the first altercation she and Cristina had had over Izzie's care.

"That woman's a shrew," Cristina muttered, then turned her attention back to Owen. He smiled, noticing that her protective streak was connected to her temper. "Did you need something?"

"Can I stop by your apartment later? My shift's over in an hour."

Cristina shrugged sullenly. She was pouting. He'd never seen more adorable pouting. And the pippy-longstocking braids just made him want to kiss her. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You're a jackass," she countered.

Owen grinned, knowing he had her. "That too."

Behind them, he heard a throat clear loudly. Cristina and Owen both turned to find an un-amused Meredith Grey approaching. She'd been too far away to hear what they'd said, but obviously wasn't happy with what she'd read from their body language. Owen stepped back, knowing it wouldn't do much good. He had no business in the cancer wing. Meredith knew exactly why he was here.

"How is she?" Meredith asked as she reached them, and he noted with some hope that she was working hard at keeping the disappointment off her face.

"I'll leave you to it," he said, and excused himself, knowing instinctively that two pairs of eyes tracked his retreat.

* * *

"Hold it still, you keep moving," Cristina said, doing her best to work the wires back into the base of the light fixture as she worked at pressing the fixture up to the ceiling. For a helpful old lady Mrs. Jensen wasn't very helpful.

"I'm trembling," Mrs. Jensen shot back irritably. "I'm an old lady, old ladies tremble."

It was true, Cristina noted. The woman was seventy-five if she was a day. But she'd been the one to offer to help when she caught Cristina headed into the apartment with light fixture box under her arm.

"My Johnny and I used to own apartment buildings," Mrs. Jensen had said. "I've changed a few light fixtures in my day."

So it wasn't exactly an offer to help, but Cristina invited her in anyway. It was turning out to have been a mistake. She'd nearly dropped the ceiling fan on Cristina's head, and even standing on the bed like they were Cristina was having trouble reaching the screws.

"What the hell is going on?" Owen demanded from the doorway. Cristina jumped at the sound of his voice and she and Mrs. Jensen both turned, caught red-handed and looking guilty.

"This is a good idea?" he demanded of Cristina, who almost blushed. "A pregnant woman and a—" he stopped short, unclear on the polite way to acknowledge Mrs. Jensen's advance age.

"Elderly person," Mrs. Jensen supplied. Cristina rolled her eyes. Now she was helpful.

"Mrs. Jensen, get down off that bed before you fall off," Owen directed, stepping forward and reaching out a hand to her to help her down.

"Oh, Owen, I'm fine," Mrs. Jensen said, but removed her hands from the fixture, leaving the full weight of it in Cristina's left hand.

"You two know each other?" Cristina asked, moving her right hand up to support the extra weight. She'd never noticed the old lady before today, had assumed she was new to the building.

"We met her and her son Johnny Jr. in the lobby," Owen said pointedly, as if it were something she should remember.

Mrs. Jensen just smiled contentedly as Owen helped her off the bed. "Oh, pregnant women are forgetful, Owen. You'll figure that out soon enough." She turned back and waved to Cristina, "I would never have guessed, dear. You aren't showing at all."

"Are you okay with that while I walk Mrs. Jensen back to her apartment?" Owen asked, managing to look concerned and irritated simultaneously.

Cristina nodded. "I'm fine."

Owen returned minutes later and wordlessly climbed up to help with the rest of the install. They'd done almsot everything, including connecting the wires. The hardest part had been finding the damn circuit breaker.

"I can't even begin to imagine what you were thinking," Owen said as he tightened the last of the screws into the fixture. "Isn't this what building managers are for? Let me guess, he didn't call you back?" He was going to have to have a talk with that man.

Cristina shook her head and let out a long breath, sitting down on the bed and drawing her knees up. "He wouldn't change it out, if there wasn't anything wrong with the ceiling fan."

Owen narrowed his eyes at her. "There wasn't anything wrong with the ceiling fan?" he asked incredulously, trying to keep a lid on his emotions. Were pregnant women erratic and nonsensical, too? Cristina shook her head in the negative. "Then why did you take it down?"

Cristina sighed, looked down at her hands where they were folded in her lap. "Dr. Wyatt thought the blades of the fan might be a trigger. "

Owen sat down next to her. "Dr. Wyatt?"

Cristina nodded. "I stopped by yesterday, to see, you know…whatever. She obviously didn't tell me anything about you, but she said a lot of times there are triggers."

It occurred to him that she was preparing the room, in expectation that they would be in here again. And the thought of it wasn't as horrible as he had expected it to be. Returning to the scene, seeing her bed, and the nightstand.... It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. And she was obviously trying. She was angry at him but she was still trying to build their life, whether or not he was here to help.

_You're not in Iraq, so where are you? _He should have been the one to buy the light fixture, to accost a neighbor to help him install it. Likely he'd have the sense not to choose an elderly woman.

"I love you, Cristina," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. She turned to look at him, surprise painted on her features. "I love you, and I want to do this with you. I want to be here for all of it. And I am so sorry I've been so—"

"Jackassy," Cristina offered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Owen laughed, nodding. "Jackassy," He agreed. "I want to be here for this. I want to be there when you see the heartbeat on the ultrasound for the first time. I want to know what your first craving is. I want to assure you you're beautiful the first time you realize you can't fit into your pants. I want all of it."

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them before, relenting, Cristina said, "Sour patch kids." She turned her head and looked into his eyes, relief flooding through her. She'd known she was angry with him, but hadn't realized she'd been waiting for him to say this. She didn't think she was the girl who was waiting for the speech, that wanted to hear the "I love you". But this time, she was. He looked confused. "My first craving, it's sour patch kids."

Owen laughed, a resounding guffaw that warmed her from the inside. "That's perfect," he said, shaking his head, still chuckling.

It was her turn to look confused.

"First they're sour," he said, leaning in and brushing his lips against hers. "Then they're sweet."

She realized where this was going. "Don't say it."

"Just," he kissed her cheek, "like," a kiss on her nose followed, "you."

Cristina snorted, worked at keeping the smile off her face and thought about telling him what else her new condition was making her crave.

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_I cannot thank everyone enough for the feedback and reviews. They are much appreciated. PLEASE keep them coming!_


	12. Ch 11

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Cristina could have expressed her love in any number of ways. He'd imagined it, in his head, in those first weeks after the incident, as a grand gesture that would bring them back together. He'd had plenty of times in the waiting rooms of his various appointments, with Dr. Wyatt and other specialists as they evaluated him, determining with Dr. Wyatt the best medication and treatment pairing. Each appointment granted him at least ten minutes of waiting, minutes where he could turn away from it all, and retreat back into his world. But he didn't. Instead he used those minutes to remember why he didn't run away from the diagnosis, and the pills (which he resented, more than he could have imagined) and the sessions. Why he hadn't retreated from the team of people that had gathered, in those early days, to study him. He'd hated them all, then. He'd hated himself. But even then he'd loved Cristina, and so he stayed. It was too much to hope that she'd find a way to let him back in, but hoping for something and imagining it turned out to be two different things. And so he let his imagination go.

In one scenario he'd turned in his resignation to Webber, and Cristina found him on the vent and told him she loved him. That he couldn't resign. That the only thing that made her days bearable was the sight of her across the hospital cafeteria, or the crowded ER, or approaching the hospital from her apartment in the moments when he stood outside in the ambulance bay, waiting for human tragedy to make its way to his OR. He imagined her saying all of the things that he imagined saying to her. Things that didn't need saying because she'd sent him packing and because, even then, she wasn't going anywhere.

In another version she'd heard about the death of one of his patients, a particularly grueling case for him, a young man who'd lost his arm from the elbow down in a roll-over accident. The young amputees were always the worst, bringing up memories of survivals where his patients would have given anything to have not survived to face the horror of recovery and life without a limb. It was a hard thing to mourn, a piece of yourself was a hard thing to mourn, especially when everyone around you was just so grateful that you'd made it home safe.

In that version Cristina had found him in an on call room, had seen the agony that had been brought to the surface. She'd lain down next to him on the bed and, over his protests, had told him she loved him. She'd told him that they would be together, that she loved him and she wouldn't have it any other way.

The scene had played out in his mind as he sat, waiting for Dr. Wyatt to finish with her Tuesday morning regular, a young blond who had chosen starving herself as a coping measure to whatever life had dealt her. It had played out in his mind outside of Wyatt's office because there hadn't been a rollover accident, and he hadn't operated on a victim missing an arm. The horror had just been a vehicle of his own mind, a means to an end, a way for Cristina to recognize he was hurting in his own twisted imagination. That was maybe the hardest part of all.

In the end, none of the scenarios he came up with held a candle to the way she told him, the way she first verbally expressed her love.

She didn't tell him she loved him in the moments after he told her. It had been slightly crushing. He'd wanted to hear it, thought he needed to hear it, then. But she hadn't said it and instead they'd moved into her kitchen to make a snack, where once he'd surveyed and commented on the contents of her fridge she had remarked that it was all a little unclear, what they meant by "best by date", because what was really called for was an "unsafe after date". That she was an "unsafe after date" kind of girl in a "best by date" world. Because what good was the best by date, really? It didn't mean that she'd get ill the next day, or even the next three days. But was that the margin of error? Was it three days? Why make her guess? When going to the store was such a monumental pain in the ass, why make people guess when it was they really needed to replace their milk?

It had charmed him, her expectation that a retailer might tell her, with some certainty, at what precise moment the contents of her fridge became unsafe. Her expectation that, if people just applied themselves, applied science, that it could be done with some accuracy.

"All this for just a few extra days with some old milk?" he had asked, and she'd sighed dramatically, as if he were missing the point on purpose. It charmed him. She charmed him, and so he forgot the ache in his chest, the sting that he felt when she hadn't said "I love you" back. She had charmed him out of his pain.

When those words did come, they were so unexpected, so much better than anything that could have been anticipated, he'd found himself instantly aroused, needing to kiss her, to be inside her. And so he approached her, pulling her against his chest and lowering his mouth to hers as he backed her slim body against a wall. She moaned against his mouth, as if she'd been waiting forever for him to make this move, and slid her arms around him, losing her fingers in his hair and simultaneously sending shivers from his scalp to his toes. Owen wrapped his arms around her waist and, rather laboriously and gracelessly, carried her back to her bedroom where they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

She was in her bra and panties almost instantly. He'd never gotten a woman's clothes off with such speed before, and her eyes had opened wide when she realized how quickly he'd worked her jeans down her legs, gotten her T-shirt over her head to reveal the mismatched bra and panties. A purple satin bra. White cotton panties. He'd grinned when he saw them, as if he'd found her out, caught her off guard. Because she thought of herself as a matching bra and panties kind of lover, a seductress, and he'd caught her unprepared.

"Sexy, I know," she mocked herself, her cheeks flush with anticipation as the white cotton panties were discarded and his hand found her, already warm and wet. But even here she surprised him, because warm wasn't the right word. Today she was hot and slick against his fingers as her eyes raked over him. "You're still dressed," she murmured.

"We got the important part done," he said, and he lowered his mouth over her heat, tasting her, teasing her. Loving her. He wanted to stop talking. He did too much talking. He just wanted to feel, and so he worked his fingers and his tongue until she was bucking her hips and her breath came in sharp little gasps. Only then did he remove his own clothes and slide between her legs. Only then did he bury himself inside her.

She was hot and tight around him and already he found himself on the edge, his heart ready to explode because she felt so familiar. They'd only shared their bodies on one other occasion, and yet still she felt like home. It didn't help dampen his arousal to know that inside of her there was a life growing. That inside of her was their child, a boy or a girl that would know them as mom and dad. That one day in the very near future he would be slipping inside her, all too aware of the sexy new swell of her belly. And he couldn't wait. The thought of it brought him to the edge, but the way she was working her hips underneath him almost pushed him over.

Not wanting to be the first to go, he reached his hand between them and shocked both of them with how quickly she came apart under his thumb, gasping his name in fevered hisses as her walls clenched around him, drawing him ever closer to release. He resisted thrusting into to her, until the peak of her climax was behind them, and then he'd allowed himself to renew thrusting, building toward his own release as the tremors in her body became farther apart. The aftershocks of her orgasm, tiny little earthquakes, pushed him into his far sooner than he'd intended. But then, he and Cristina had their own timeline, and expectations and intentions had very little to do with any of it.

He collapsed next to her when it was over, and pressed his face into her neck, kissing just under her ear. And he smiled, remembering the way she'd completely erased his disappointment. The way, just moments after he'd shut her apartment door behind him and taken the first few steps down the hall, he'd heard the door re-open. He'd turned, confused, thinking at first that he'd forgotten something, expected to see her holding his wallet or his keys. But she'd stood in the hallway, barefoot and empty handed, and said, "It turns out I haven't said this out loud. You have but I didn't, not because I don't, but because it is so—" She paused, searching for the right word, "so true. So consuming. So _obvious_ that I forgot it might need saying," that tiny little smile had followed, a steadying breath and, "I love you."

* * *

_Author's note: Hopefully the tense of this chapter isn't too confusing and doesn't take away from the story (and the smut!). When the rating change happened y'all knew it was building, and it took a chapter or two but you got a touch or smut and Cristina's ILY. Let me know (by reviewing) what you think. Thanks to everyone's who's reviewed to date, I really really appreciate the feedback (and it keeps me motivated)._


	13. Ch 12

"Was that Meredith?" Owen asked, watching with some interest as Cristina, scowling slightly, set her cell phone down on the coffee table.

Cristina leaned into him, tucked her body against his chest and closed her eyes. "Yes," she said, stretching her legs out along the length of the couch. It had been such a lazy day that, despite not having done anything, she was exhausted. She didn't know how he'd managed to stay awake as they lazed around watching movies all afternoon. He'd worked all night. "She's coming over with some cake samples. Izzie's not been keeping much down and she thought she'd spare her the cake tasting and torture me instead."

"Ah, girl stuff," Owen said, stroking her hair and kissing her temple gently. "I should go. I need to get some sleep anyway."

Cristina's scowl deepened, suspecting his departure had less to do with sleep and more to do with Meredith. "You're not really going to leave me alone with wedding cake, are you? I don't have opinions about wedding cake."

Owen grimaced, faked a pained expression and shook his head.

"She'll find out about us sooner or later. Why not sooner?" she asked, and made an effort to keep the edge out of her voice. Because she wasn't mad at him. And she wasn't necessarily mad at Meredith, either. But the day had been so perfect, that she didn't want it to end. She wanted to stand next to him and tell Meredith that they were trying again.

Owen shook his head again. "No. Not with me here, Cristina. You need to be fair to her. You need to let her be worried for you. You need to let her have a reaction, a real reaction, that's not colored by the fact that I'm standing three feet away when she learns about us."

He was right, and she nodded. But not before she leaned in to kiss him, to wordlessly thank him for thinking of her, of thinking of her friends, of looking out for the other relationships in her life even as they rekindled theirs.

She sighed contentedly as pulled back from the kiss, just a soft brushing of lips, and was surprised to find Owen smiling widely. "What?" she asked.

"Say it again," he whispered.

Cristina grinned, shook her head. "No way."

"Tell me or I'll never leave."

Cristina laughed. "That's a terrible tactic!" She kissed him again, felt her body come alive as he led her body up and onto his, until she was straddling him, pressing her hips against his as he buried his hands in her hair and kissed his way down her throat. She could feel his arousal, hot and hard, between her legs.

"Mmm, let's go to your place," Cristina said, and rocked her lips back and forth, teasing him. Owen groaned, slid his hand down the side of her face, along her neck, down over her breast and rib cage until he reached the hem of her shirt and his hand made the trek back up. She arched her back and pushed her breast into his palm as his lips found hers again.

"No, you need to be here for Meredith," he said, and closed his teeth around her bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

"We have a few minutes," she said, squirming on his lap, "before you need to make yourself scarce." Owen groaned and shook his head in the negative, but pushed her bra out of the way and slid his thumb over her nipple. "Please," she said, her breath hot against his ear as she grazed her teeth over an earlobe. "I want you inside me."

Owen's hand stilled, knowing he was rapidly losing the teasing game and that she would convince him, sooner rather than later. He knew it because he heard something change in her tone, a raspy edge behind her words that let him know she was about to escalate her game.

"Don't you want to be inside me?" she cooed in her best sexy-pout voice.

It was getting harder to breathe, and the ache in his groin harder to avoid. "I'm not taking you home and I'm not taking you on this couch. You have maid of honor duties to attend to." There shouldn't be an ache in his groin. He should be sated. Satisfied. They'd made love already. Twice. He shouldn't be desperate to have her again.

But Cristina knew the effect she was having on him. She was smiling when lowered her voice to a breathy whisper, "Fuck me."

Fuck _me_, Owen thought, and squeezed his eyes shut. Some things a man was never intended to be able to resist.

"I'm so wet, Owen," Cristina said, and since her mouth was next to his ear he couldn't see her expression. But he knew exactly the look that was on her face. Glee. She was enjoying herself. "You make me so wet."

"Enough!" Owen leaned into her, claiming her mouth in a kiss so she couldn't start her next taunt, which no doubt would be as irresistible as it was filthy. Cristina smiled, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back with a playful passion that took his breath away. The backs of his fingers brushed against her abdomen and he almost relented, but broke the kiss. "You're going to be the best maid of honor ever. You need to prove why she didn't choose her sister."

Cristina scoffed, wiggled once more against him for good measure and said, "No contest. She hates her sister. I'm her person. Besides, I'm a horrible maid of honor. I'm going to be fat for the wedding. It'll ruin all the pictures."

Owen smiled and, with renewed focus turned and directed her back down onto the couch until she was on her back underneath him, her thighs still around his hips. "Tell me," he said, pushed her shirt up and exposed the purple of her bra. Cristina shook her head. No. "Fine, I'll just have to do this," he pulled her bra down, exposed her nipple and flicked his tongue against the nub, "Until you tell me."

Cristina moaned as her head fell back against the couch, black curls splayed every which way on the cushion under her head. "That's a terrible tactic," she grinned, refusing to give in. But at the door, when he held her face in both of his hands and kissed her so tenderly that she thought her heart might break, she relented and told him again.

After he'd gone, she leaned against her door and planned how to rid the apartment of the evidence that something significant had changed in just a matter of hours. She thought, too, that she might have accomplished it when she opened the door and saw how frazzled Meredith looked. She felt a moment of relief, because a frazzled Meredith was not an observant Meredith.

"That's a lot of cake," Cristina announced, opening the door wider to let Meredith and her boxes in. Owen had left at least fifteen minutes before, and unclear of how much she would tell Meredith, she'd thought of everything. She'd opened the windows, because if any place smelled like sex then surely it was her apartment. She'd tidied her hair, pulling it back into a clip. She'd thrown her sweatshirt back on, and opened medical journals and left them on the coffee table. As if she'd been sitting home alone on her day off, reading about surgery, rather than sitting around being pregnant and having sex with a tall, muscular red-head with surprisingly efficient sperm.

"I know, right? It's like they know my wedding dress is already tight." Meredith slid past her into the apartment, a strange look coming over her face. "Cristina," she hissed, stomping her foot on the ground in mock indignation. Meredith's smile, that glorious, non-judgmental Meredith smile, was just under the surface below the expression of mock outrage. "Is that whisker burn?"

So she hadn't thought of everything.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Owen and I are giving it another go on account of the baby," Cristina said dryly, figuring that quick was painless. "The whisker burn is _everywhere_."

Luckily, Meredith had only been holding samples of wedding cake, and not the real thing.


	14. Ch 13

"I'm worried," Meredith said, "You can't blame me for being worried."

Cristina grimaced and pushed away the lemon cake. They'd all been in little white individual boxes and, while slightly deformed, had survived their trip from Meredith's arms to the ground relatively unharmed. "Under the lemon tone this one has the distinct taste of dishwater."

Meredith scowled. "Now you have an opinion about wedding cakes? I'm trying to have a serious discussion here."

Cristina nodded. "Okay, I know. I know you're worried. But we're taking it slow."

"You're pregnant and you had sex all day. The opposite of taking it slow? Yeah, that's what you're doing."

"Why are you yelling?"

"I'm not yelling!" Meredith yelled. "I'm frustrated because you're pregnant and planning to have the baby. Oh, and you got back together with the boyfriend that almost killed you."

"He's in treatment. He's getting better."

"I know he's getting better, it's pretty obvious, but that doesn't mean that he is better. That doesn't mean that you're safe."

Cristina reached for the white chocolate cake and took a bite, then made a face. "I don't know why I even tried that one, I don't like white chocolate. The coffee cart makes white chocolate mochas and they're disgusting."

"My question is, why isn't he more worried? And not just about what he did to you. Does he know what happened last time you were pregnant?"

Cristina looked up guiltily.

"I just want to know what you're doing, Cristina. And why you're doing it. You're only five weeks pregnant. Anything can happen, you could lose the baby tomorrow. In two weeks you could pass out in the OR and lose your other tube."

"You should write children's books." Cristina said grumpily.

"Why do you and Owen have to try again so soon?"

"Because I missed him, Meredith." Cristina snapped, sighing. "Because I—" Cristina stopped short, glanced at Meredith. Her friend's expression had softened dramatically with Cristina's admission.

Meredith reached out, curled her fingers around Cristina's and smiled sadly. "You had dirty sex with Owen Hunt and now you're in love."

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, turned their attentions to cake tasting and Meredith called Derek to tell him she'd be spending the night with Cristina. Cristina was grateful that they didn't talk about Owen again, but knew instinctively that it was only a short reprieve. That as much support as Meredith could provide, she couldn't help but point out the obvious.

And the obvious, the undercurrent of the evening, the truth that went unspoken, was that Owen had left tonight. That he'd left, not because Meredith was coming over, although surely this hastened his exit, but to avoid any question of where he would sleep.

And it was not in Meredith's nature to ignore this, to let it go unchallenged. Because as happy as Owen and Cristina were, as much as they wanted to be together, there was still a lot of work to be done. That if not for the unintended pregnancy, Cristina and Owen would have taken a lot more time before finding their way back to each other. And they'd have probably been better off for it.

But Meredith also knew that tonight was not the night. And so instead, having made a decision about the samples, they cleaned up and made their way into Cristina's bedroom.

* * *

_Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone. Reviews keep me motivated!_


	15. Ch 14

_Author's note: Kind of a housekeeping chapter, but hopefully still enjoyable_

* * *

Cristina had some time to kill before Meredith's hair stylist was done trying to wrestle her hair into a "trial up-do" for the wedding, so Cristina found herself wandering around Queen Anne, a neighborhood she was still rather unfamiliar with (despite having lived in Seattle for over a year now), trying to kill time. Lost in her thoughts, it was purely chance that she stumbled upon a yarn shop. Thoughts of Izzie sent her inside.

It was a weekday afternoon, and there were a few women sitting around in rocking chairs, knitting and talking. In the middle of the day. And not all of them could be explained away as being retired—one of the knitters was late thirties max. Who had that kind of time on their hands they could go sit in a store and knit in the middle of the afternoon? She envied them for a split second, and then reminded herself that she got to cut people open almost every day.

But by the time she'd left the shop, carrying her two "skeins" of yarn in a shopping bag, she'd decided it wasn't such a bad place to spend the day, if you could get past the pretentious bullshit and agree to call a ball of yarn a "skein". She'd even heard some delicious gossip about Gigi's cousin Mary, who was apparently quite the tramp. Doubtless if she'd known Mary, or at least been able to pick her out of a lineup, hearing about her soiree with the husband of someone they called Little Emily would have been even more entertaining. But poor Emily. A cheating husband and people referring to her as "Little Emily". COuld it get any worse? Cristina decided to keep Owen away from anyone named Mary in the future.

As she wandered back toward the hair salon, where Meredith should have been finishing up, she felt a vibration in her pocket signaling a text on her phone. She pulled it out, smiling to see Owen's name appear on the display. Their respective schedules had been so busy lately, she'd barely spent any time alone with him in the week since their last encounter. She had the short end of the stick on the call schedule this month, and when she wasn't on call he had been. Short of a few stolen kisses around the hospital, they'd been apart. Only this time apart was different. She felt less drained, more alive. The moments brushing against him during a procedure or restraining a flailing patient were less bittersweet, and definitely more sweet.

_What are you doing?_ She loved that he was a full-sentence-writing, no-abbreviation-using, punctuation-including texter. She'd noticed that it was only in personal texts that it happened. In hospital-based texting and paging activity he would, and did, abbreviate anything that could possibly be shortened. But there was nothing hurried about the texts she received from him that weren't about "business".

_Bought I some yarn. Waiting-- M salon. U?_

_I'm about to take a patient to the OR, was just thinking about you._ She was surprised he didn't type out "operating room" just to mess with her.

_Wish u were here. Kinda craving some lovin. _Let him think about that.

_I've never done it in a hair salon. I think they would make Meredith pay extra for that._

Smartass. She texted a response, grinning happily to herself, and waited anxiously for his reply. It came almost immediately.

_Cruel woman_.

She would see him tomorrow night, after work, and just the thought of it made the taste-testing caterers and sitting around hair salons bearable. Cristina nearly bounced into the salon and found Meredith in her seat, trying to explain to the stylist that while she liked the fullness in back, she wasn't happy with the texture.

"But you asked for curls," the stylist said, smoothing one of the delicately crafted barrel curls.

"The curls are fine, it's that rat's nest back-combing on the underside of all of them that's the problem," Cristina interrupted, opening a bag of candy and plopping herself into a chair.

Meredith gave her a sideways glance. "I have some raisins in my purse if you're hungry."

"I'm not even going to ask why you have raisins in your purse, but no thanks crazy food-hoarder lady," Cristina replied testily. She couldn't have a caffeinated beverage without Meredith giving her the stink-eye. She was a surgical resident, like she could give up caffine? Like in the history of the world, no pregnant woman ever had a freaking cup of coffee once in awhile. She'd specifically asked Dr. Clark if she could have coffee, to which she had responded, "Like what I say matters?" in that snippy way Cristina adored.

The conversation had taken place at her first visit, just before the vaginal scan ultrasound. Dr. Clark wanted to confirm that the pregnancy site was within the uterine canal, and had suggested the more sensitive scan. It was only after the feeling of relief flooded through when Dr. Clark reported the scan findings back to her that Cristina realized how worried she'd been about it.

She'd refused to look at the scan, determined that she and Owen would see and hear the baby for the first time together. Her next appointment was during her lunch break tomorrow, and Owen had cleared his schedule. They would be looking at that ultrasound together, which was why during the first scan Cristina had clamped her hands over her ears, squeezed her eyes shut and started singing "la, la, la", Dr. Clark had suggested that maybe telling the father about the history of ectopic pregnancy would be a more mature solution. And she didn't look offended when Cristina told her to 'shove it', which assured her she'd made the right choice in her new OB.

Meredith's opinions were less easy to disregard, simply because she had opinions about absolutely everything, absolutely all the time. _Don't they recommend regular activity? Maybe we should go walking. Did you tell your mother you're pregnant? You should tell your mother. There's a lot of salt in that Cup of Noodles, wouldn't you rather go get a salad? Isn't this the 2nd time we've been in a McDonald's drive-thru today? Really? _Really, she probably should tell her mother. At least her mother is in Beverly Hills, and could only be ruthlessly annoying from a distance. Knowing her luck, though, she'd hop on a plane and Cristina would have to contend with two hens pecking at her.

"Wait, is that spray glitter?" Cristina demanded, a piece of candy half-way to her mouth and her eyes on the aerosol can in the stylist's hand. While Cristina had been distracted she'd done and amazing job of smoothing out the teasing. Even she had to admit Meredith looked great, if not a little ridiculous in a white button down shirt, jeans, pink converse sneakers and Wedding Hair. "We're not going to _prom_."

Meredith threw her a grateful glance.

"It's really subtle," the stylist said hopefully.

"It's _glitter_. That's the opposite of subtle." The girl had a tongue ring, platform heels and fake breasts--gorgeous or not, (and she was stunning)--subtle wasn't her strong suit.

"She's pregnant and moody, I'd put the glitter down," Meredith said, trying to inject some levity into the tense moment. "I think it looks perfect just like this."

A few minutes later they'd paid and were on their way to Cristina's car when Meredith pointed to the bag in Cristina's hand. "What's that?"

"I bought some yarn for Izzie, now that she has a little bit more energy I thought she might like to get started on scarf number seventeen. I don't think the creepy guy in radiology has one yet."

Meredith smiled, "Cool, let's stop by the hospital and drop it off."

Cristina eyed Meredith's head nervously. "Really?"

* * *

_A/N: Thank you, thank you for all the reviews. The feedback is appreciated. Keep them coming (please)._


	16. Ch 15

The bathroom floor isn't all that bad, when you really think about. For instance, she could lay on the floor for hours. The cleaning company had been in yesterday, so she knew the tile floor was freshly scrubbed. And while the bathmat didn't make an ideal pillow, if folded in half it was passable.

She considered crawling into the next room to get a pillow off her bed, but the thought of moving made her want to vomit. _Why did this baby hate her? _Her cell phone rang again, it hadn't stopped all morning. It was her day off, she wasn't going to go in for any surgery no matter how cool. Vomiting into a patient's body cavity would not bode well for her chances of remaining a resident. The hospital was a different place post merger. Pre-merger you could cut your boyfriend's LVAD wire and keep your job. Post-merger they fired you for having cancer. _I know you almost died and still might die, but you're fired. Get some rest._

And the Mercy-Westers. They were hard to take. She hated the way the merger had ruined what sweetness she and Owen had been able to share. Webber announced the layoffs the day she and Owen were going in to see the Dr. Clark for the "first" ultrasound. Owen was ecstatic, but she was distracted. Because if cancer could get you fired—what would they do with a pregnant resident. Especially when that resident was pregnant with the daughter of an Attending. What a clusterfuck.

Cristina groaned, a new wave of nausea likely related to her anxiety more than morning sickness. _It's been a few weeks since they fired anyone. And they did hire that new Cardio God. _Her efforts to calm herself only made the anxiety worse, because something about her told Cristina she was not the gift Owen thought she was. Even if she could operate. Come to think of it, she trusted very few of the new faces around her. The least trustworthy being Jackson Avery.

A memory swept through her. She felt the pressure of his lips on hers, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push out the worming thoughts. Maybe she was the least trustworthy. She tried to think about Owen, the way he rested his hand on her abdomen during the ultrasound. The way he's rattled off a list of girls names. It had never occurred to her that in the hours in the call room, when he couldn't sleep, he was thinking of names for their baby. She still hadn't told Owen she'd been kissed by another man. She hadn't kissed back. Well for the first half second, maybe she kissed back. But the first half second didn't count, it was her body reacting to being taken by surprise. It was the heat of a new touch, the promise of excitement. What was it about men with blue eyes?

She would have to warn her brown-eyed girl. There wasn't much chance she'd have anything other than brown eyes, genetics considered. _Abby. Carol. Erin. Heather. Megan. Rachel. Samantha. Tessa. Quinn._ The names, the memory of the wonder in his voice as he whispered them to her (in alphabetical order, no less), lulled her to sleep.


	17. Ch 16

She had started to show. Nothing dramatic. A soft swell to her belly. It was most evident when he undressed her, just before they made love. A sweet secret under the pale white skin. An unexpected prize for a battle hard one. He'd found her asleep on the bathroom floor, much to his chagrin. Had lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He'd done his best not to wake her, but it was no use. The movement stirred her. She slid her head up to lean against his shoulder, put a hand on his chest, poking her fingers through the front of his shirt, in between the buttons. Ice cold fingers assaulted his bare skin. He stiffened. And then he Stiffened.

"Mmm," Cristina hummed, wiggling, as if burrowing into him. He drew in a breath, set her gently on the bed. She was wearing the same flannel pajamas he'd left her in this morning, rolled because they were his. Because she was so tiny. It was hard to believe there was an even tinier life inside of her was growing.

"Did you really spend all day in your pajamas, laying on the bathroom floor?" he asked, kissing the nape of her neck. She grabbed at the front of his shirt, as if to hold him, as if he would ever willingly let go of this moment. Her eyes fluttered open, the first real sign she had committed to consciousness.

"No," she said, mocking a defensive tone. "I spent the day building a baby. Arms and legs and what not. It's hard work."

He grinned, lay down next to her, and propped himself up on an elbow. With one hand, he started unbuttoning the flannel pajama top, pushing the fabric apart as he progressed. Her breasts were swollen. Probably the most noticeable change to any observant people. The scrubs completely hid the swell of her abdomen, but he had caught Avery's eyes pause momentarily, obviously looking at her chest. Almost immediately, Avery had caught himself, had looked up at Owen to see if Owen had noticed him notice Cristina. He had.

It had occurred to him then that Avery was aware that he was seeing Cristina. That he would be the person to look at warily if there was a chance you were caught eyeing Cristina for a little too long. He wondered if someone had told him, or if he had formed the conclusion after watching them together. And if he had, did that mean he was watching Cristina?

"Ouch," Cristina whispered, though she didn't seem in pain when she arched back, pressing into her hand. He released her nipple, surprised to find he'd been squeezing it. Cristina was watching him from under heavy lids. "What's going through that red head of yours."

Owen lowered his mouth to her breast, administering his apology via a gentle kiss.

"Mmmm," Cristina hummed, stretching her arms over her head in abandon as sensations flowed through her body, finding their way between her thighs and pooling there. Exerting insistent, firey pressure. Conspiring for release.

"Owen," Cristina groaned. He marveled at how responsive she was, how easy to arouse. How willing a lover pregnancy made her. Not willing. Demanding. The worst was the nights he was on call, and she was alone at home, so close to the hospital. Knowing he couldn't leave, she had developed the habit of showing up, of paging him to an on call room. Or finding him in his office and closing the door. Or slipping a note into his white coat while he was catching up on his patient notes. Letting him know she would be on the vent. She couldn't get enough and he wasn't complaining, but he was sure that they were going to draw someone's attention soon. He'd caught a few strange looks from Teddy, who had also reacted oddly to finding out that he was in a relationship with Cristina. He couldn't quite figure out what caused her confusion. That she was so different from Beth? Or that she was a resident and he, her Attending. He kept meaning to ask but something about their interactions lately made him ill at ease. He hadn't brought it up with Cristina because she was so—happy. She finally had her Cardio God, was back to working with hearts, and excelling, and getting noticed for doing good work. Excellent work. He didn't want to risk changing that-- not when she'd finally started to feel secure at the hospital again.

"Owen?" Cristina asked. Her voice drew him back to the moment, and he realized he had been still for quite some time. She was propped up on her elbows, looking at him quizzically.

"I-uh- I should go. I just came over to check on you… you weren't answering your phone. I have to get back to my shift."

Normally, Cristina would argue, try to tempt him into staying. But now, she just nodded, pulled her—his—pajama top closed and started buttoning. "I'll see you later tonight? After your shift?" she asked, not looking at him, feigning enthrallment with the buttons on the shirt.

Suddenly feeling ill at ease, feeling a storm brewing, Owen just nodded. "Yes." It would prove to be one of those moments that you regret. A moment where you didn't say what you were thinking. _I'll see you tonight and every night, for the rest of our lives._


	18. Ch 17

"Hey," Teddy said, approaching. She looked happy. Joyful. She is happy here, and he is relieved. He did not want to bring her anywhere she might be unhappy. And Seattle could be a place where, if you let yourself, you could get lost in unhappiness. Let it seep under your skin, fill your heart with melancholy and marinate your bones. Become so comfortable with dreary days and drizzling rain that all you wanted was to curl up by a fire and bask in the simple beauty—the gentle pull—of sorrow. It was so unlike Iraq, where every day was a fight against depression. A fight against loneliness and despondency. A resistance the slow inevitability of the decay of hope.

He smiled, laughed a little. Her happiness is infectious. It always was. "Hey," he said.

She sat down, joining him on the bench where he was waiting for Cristina. She would be out soon, having been in the same operating room as Teddy. "So…" Teddy said, grinning again.

"Hm?" Owen found himself laughing, leaning forward to try and push away the nervousness. He works at getting the awkward excitement out of his voice. He can tell she is impressed with Cristina's skills in Cardio. But that was a given.

Teddy shakes her head, laughs again. "Cristina Yang." The name has implications. You are seeing Cristina Yang. You are lovers with Cristina Yang. You brought me here for your girlfriend, Cristina Yang.

He dives in. They need to discuss it. It's better to get it out of the way sooner, rather than later. "Yup. I probably should have told you but I just didn't want to bias you. I just didn't want you to favor her, for me. I just wanted her to stand on her own talent." And it was true. Cristina didn't need anyone to do favors for Owen in order to shine in cardio. She was talented and gifted and extraordinary with hearts.

Teddy nodded. She feigned her understanding even if she didn't seem confident in it. But then suddenly her face, her body language, the tone of the conversation-- it all changed. Morphed into something new. "When'd you break up with Beth?" she asked.

He was taken aback, stuttered a bit before finally admitting that it was 'around then'. Not wanting to delve further into stolen kisses on leave from Iraq and a two-line email. Teddy let the silence grow between them, let him feel the weight of it before speaking agin. Then she said, "I thought you would have called me."

He froze, because she couldn't mean-- He tried to say "What", but the word came out of his lips without the assistance of his larynx. He was speechless. It was not a lack of thoughts or words or intention. So many thoughts rose to the surface, memories of moments, of laughter and of tears. Of unbearably hot days and bone chilling nights. Had he missed it? All those years had she felt something too? Something just out of their reach? So close, but not quite there, not quite fate? Something both more and less than being in love.

'Call you about what?' he wanted to demand. He didn't. He found himself searching her face, unsure. Where was this going?

Oh God," Teddy said, a wry grin spread across her face. "I guess it really was all in my head."

He wanted to let it go uncommented on. To let the moment pass. He couldn't. Because he had wondered for years. How could he stop wondering now? "What? What was in your head?"

"Nothing." Teddy tried to wave it off, to dismiss it, but it wasn't nothing. Once, it might have been everything to him-- but not now. Not here. Not this place or this time.

"Nothing, I just -- I-- I-- I always thought that if you and Beth broke up-- I just-- I thought that you would call me." It took a few attempts, but she got the words out. A simple statement_. I thought you would call me._ Fact. Simple fact. His chest tightened. It was suddenly hard to breathe. Because if he had known-- he would have. He would have thrown himself into that love that was so close to being in love. He would have told Beth that he was sorry, and he would have ended it. He wouldn't have dragged it out for years, waiting until his relationship with Beth—until marrying Beth-- felt right.

It still made him fill guilty. His failure to see what was right in front of him all along. He was never going to marry Beth. And maybe it was because of Teddy. Because of their almost, he knew what marriage should be. All those years he had been waiting until he could make good on his proposal, ignoring the growing certainty that he never could.

Beth had brought up wedding dates a few times. Each time it made him feel guilty, to put it off- because if he just held out a little bit longer maybe Teddy would see how he felt. Because maybe she felt the same way. Maybe they could have had something. Maybe, if they gave it a chance, their almost would end up being the real thing. The thing he was waiting for.

Of course he didn't admit it to himself at the time. He had been looking for an out and it was harsh and it was unfair and he had been blinded by his selfishness, the need to have a back up waiting in the wings. Because it wasn't an out he had been waiting for. He'd been waiting to fall in love. To fall in love with Beth. Or with Teddy. To be consumed with love for someone. And it had not happened, not with Beth in Seattle and not with Teddy in Iraq. So selfishly, he'd kept Beth waiting, until he reached down and picked a smart-mouthed irate GenSurg resident with an icicle through the abdomen off the ground and carried into the doors of Seattle Grace Hospital.

He'd found love at Seattle Grace, he'd fallen in love here. But the what ifs-- would he have fallen in love with Teddy, if he had known?

_No._ It had to be no. Because it happened with Cristina. Cristina changed everything, and moved him to act. How many days, how many nights, could Owen have thrown caution to the wind and kissed Teddy? But he didn't. Not once. He had to have been waiting for Cristina, because when he found her, he knew immediately. With a sureness he had never possessed about any other woman.

"Teddy--" he started.

She shook her head. She didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to prolong it. "It's okay, Owen. It's okay."

It wasn't okay. She seemed to feel bad, for saying anything. And he wanted her to fell bad. It was unfair. "I clearly made up this whole story…. It was a good story, it was all tortured and--" she sounded wistful, like she was describing and long lost friend, "and, Bridges of Madison County and--" she paused, watched him and seemed to search his face. He hoped his face would not betray any confusion. He hoped his face was not looking receptive to this new development. He worked at keeping a blank expression, trying not to show any signs of being uncomfortable, or embarrassed. Determined not to show any pity or hope or regret.

"Now I know and I can let that story go."

He still couldn't get any words out. Because what would he say? What could he say? Was she hoping that he would say 'Don't let go'; or was she only telling him now because she had let go? Because the door had closed. She had had an entire conversation without him and resolved an issue he hadn't known was there.

But it grabbed ahold of him. Their almost. The unrelenting pull of 'What If?'


	19. Interlude

_"This is cooling faster than I can"_

- Tori Amos, "Cooling"

* * *

**Interlude in Present Tense**

He is burning up inside. She is happy, and laughing, and her legs are wrapped around his hips, her calves squeezing him closer, pulling him in despite his need to prolong this moment. His need to prolong their joy, their happiness. Her relief at finding happiness, at home and at work. Because she is relieved, because right now she doesn't know.

_I thought you would call me_. He hates himself for this. For not knowing how she felt. For not knowing, but also, for knowing. All those years of wanting Teddy, all those years of hoping for some sign that she wanted him, too. Was it real? If she had given him a sign, would he have left Beth? Would they have tried? Would they have made it?

"Owen," Cristina whispers, bringing him back to a moment his mind never should have left. Where he is inside her, moving, pleasure radiating through him as she wiggled and moaned underneath him, her nails biting into his back, her back curls against the pale pillow case.

"Cristina," he said, moving over her, cupping her hips in his hands, stilling her, taking control. Her head falls back, her eyes close. She licks her lips.

He works at clinging to the moment, because the walls are closing in on him. He made a terrible mistake. He made a terrible mistake because once, he thought he loved Teddy Altman.

_What if I did? What if I do?_

Cristina has stopped moving. She is holding her breath. The moment had passed for both of them. Cristina grimaces. "I'm sorry," she turns her head away, taking her eyes off him, removing her face and her expression from his view. Weakly, she offers an explanation for her sudden chang ein demeanor, her sudden abandonment of their approaching release. "Morning sickness."

There was no way he could have known how Teddy felt. He didn't feel the way he used to. Cristina's hands are on his chest, she is pushing him away, she is not meeting his eyes. She is moving to the bathroom, her hand at her throat.

_She knows. I could have known. I did this._ Cristina closes the bathroom door behind her. Owen falls into the pillows, defeated. Because it could be morning sickness. Or it could be much, much worse.

He rolls over, lets the sound of the shower spray lull him into passivity. He doesn't go to her, offer to rub her back, or hold back her hair. The spray of the shower on her back calms her stomach. She likes to sit in the base of the shower, letting the hot spray hit her back. He knows this, and cleans the shower floor nightly, in preparation for the nausea. It usually does not come during their lovemaking. But then again, there is something entirely different about this night.

Nothing has changed. Everything is on the verge of change. One wrong move, one wrong step, could mean the end.


	20. Ch 18

She found him by accident in the ER, checking on a patient. It was perhaps one of the best things about the ER—the open floor plan meant that at any moment she could look up and see him. Strong and sturdy oh-so-sexy. It was best when it was a surprise, when she didn't expect to see him, when the sight of his white coat on those broad shoulders made her flush with excitement, remembering their first time, the dark blue scrub top coming off, over his head, leaving his hair mussed as he kissed her tenderly. Their first time making love, the night the life growing inside of her was conceived.

She finds herself grinning broadly at the sight of him, his eyes lingering on her, watching her. Her smile only fades when Cristina realizes he isn't watching her—he's watching _her_. Teddy. The woman he brought here to make her happy made Cristina both infuriatingly happy and infuriatingly jealous. They shared a history, of sorts. A history she didn't share and might never be able to fully understand or appreciate. His eyes moved from Teddy to her, caught Cristina watching him, noticing her for the first time. There was a time when she would have been the first person he noticed. Had something changed? Were her hormones making her over-react.

Something changed in his face, a hardening of the jaw, a resoluteness in the eyes. Had he sensed her jealousy? Her insecurity? Did he resent her neediness? Resent her presence? Resent the way their child tied him to her? Did having Teddy here make him realize he didn't need Cristina, didn't want her. Was he only hanging on out of obligation. The baby. The woman that stood by him after…everything. Through everything.

He was still looking at her, and Cristina had to turn away from that gaze. She turned to see Jackson Avery leaning against the wall of the ER, watching the scene play out with less than detached interest. She barely avoided sticking her tongue out at him, or flipping him the bird. Childish impulses from a woman with child. She pictured a life raising a baby by herself. There would have to be a nanny. Her mother might insist on coming to help. This caused a wave of panic, and she fled the ER before her brain could work itself into any more knots.

-

Owen cursed himself for his stupidity. The look of disappointment on Cristina's face cemented into his mind that he was a damn fool. He wanted Teddy gone. He felt—betrayed—by her confession. He was _with_ Cristina. He _loved_ Crisitna.

Owen stormed over to Teddy, who started to mumble something about a 'final wave'. Small talk. Now she's interested in small talk? "I need to talk to you." He grabbed Teddy's arm, tugging her toward a nearby exam room.

"No,' I'm heading into the--" She started to protest, then realized her arm was in his hand, that he wasn't letting go. She sped up enough during the short walk so that once in the room she was able to spin on him, wrenching her arm from his grasp.

He is suddenly brought back to a time when he grabbed Cristina by an elbow, steered her into an on call room. The desperation of that moment. _You see me. This is me. This is me_. What had Cristina seen before she walked out? Had she stopped seeing him?

"Now," Owen says. He is more forceful than he meant to be. She ruined everything. Or could ruin everything. Maybe wanted to ruin everything, and if that was the case she was doing a bang-up job. She had made Cristina see something other than him, and his emotions go back and forth, from resenting her to being angry with himself.

Teddy turned on him, fire in her eyes. She responds to being pushed. She pushes back. Rises to the occasion, as she always rose to the occasion. Once, it was his favorite thing about her. .

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed, as if he is crazy, as if he has gone mad.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. You come over here--" his voice nearly cracked, and so he broke off the sentence. He looked away from her for a split second, worked at gathering his emotions, putting them into coherent thoughts that could be verbalized calmly. He tried to put the words in some semblance of order, to keep his voice level, but when he finally speaks he finds he has almost yelled the words, "Why do you tell me this now?"

He cannot finish the question she starts in, her voice rising to meet his. "Why do you even care?"

"You never said a thing, all those times-- all those years-- so why now?" He wished he was calmer, that he had planned this better. Things will be more awkward, now that they have done this.

"I don't know". It's not enough. Her response is insufficient. He wanted her to explain herself. She didn't even try.

"You _don't know_?"

"I don't know-- I don't know-- What does it matter to you? You never felt the same way," her words tumble, one nearly toppling over the other in her rush to get them out.

_See me._

"Of course I did!" He shot back. And it was true. He didn't mean to say it but it was true. And it was out.

He had never been a romantic. He had been with Beth. It had been stable. He craved a stable home life, and he thought it was enough that Beth needed him, that she would always be there. That she would wait for him while he ran off to save the world. It had only started to seem worrisome when he met Teddy, and realized that he could have made a different choice. He could have chosen a partner. Those nights in Iraq, the wondering, the weighing of his options. The knowledge that at any moment, he could end it with Beth. He could chose Teddy, and they could save the world together. She could share his choice, his life, in a way Beth never could.

Owen turned away, furious at himself for having spoken the words. He was misleading her. He didn't want to mislead her.

_No more outbursts_, he ordered himself, pushing away from the counter to turn on her. _ No more confessions. _But confessions sneak up on a person. The slip out. They are a weight on your shoulders, they are a drain on your will. And sometimes the choice to throw off the weight is made by instinct before the brain has had a chance to intervene. "Of course I did, I always had feelings for you, Teddy. For years, but you never gave me anything." And it was true. He found himself moving close to her, found himself nearly whispering, his voice a low rumble. Because it was true. If she had ever showed any inclination, any interest, he would have chosen to a partner over what he shared with Beth. He'd chosen a partner in Cristina.

They spoke at once, Teddy full of fire as, over and over, she reminded him that he was engaged, fought back, called him the idiot that, ultimately, he was.

The shouting ended, and she was suddenly so close. Closer than she had even been in all those years. Within his reach. Putting herself out there.

"I have loved you."

He was back in that on call room, asking Cristina to see him. And it broke his heart to be on the receiving end.

"Forever," Teddy continued, committed to it now. "I have loved you when I was coupled up. I have loved you when I was single. I have loved you every second of every day" she ended in the sentence close to a whisper, leaning forward, nearly resting her forehead against his.

"N-" The word no caught in his throat, his lips inches from hers. How many nights had he ached to kiss her?

"I love you. I'm in love with you." she whispered to him, her hand coming up to brush his chin for a moment, inching closer, willing him to kiss her.

"I'm in love with Cristina," he said, pulling away, restoring the space between them. She looked as if she had been slapped, and he couldn't blame her. He was ashamed with how the scene had went, ashamed of himself. He had given her hope, ignited a flame and then extinguished it much too harshly. Words whispered into her mouth as the scene of her—a mixture of vanilla and peach—washed over him.

Owen turned and walked out of the room.


	21. Ch 19

They were speaking in whispers, like little girls would do at a sleepover after the lights went out. But this wasn't a sleepover, and these weren't little girls.

"Are you eating enough?"

"Is this hard for you?"

"What? You being pregnant? Or us being held up in your apartment because you won't leave, except to go to the hospital, where you won't operate."

"_Can't_ operate. Me being pregnant."

Meredith paused, leaned into the couch, and sighed. "Are you asking if I'm dark and twisty because I lost a baby?"

"I'm asking if you resent me."

Meredith picked at the knit blanket draped across them. Minutes ticked by, where they were just still. It was a new feeling, since the shooting (or the mass murder, as Lexie would say). The stillness in Cristina was even present in the hospital, where she was never still. Even in her sleep in the on call rooms, Cristina is wound tight, ready to pounce for the next heart patient. But a stillness had taken over, a lethargy, a heavy burden that was not quite sad. Was she alone? Was she afraid? "I know it's not fair."

Cristina was showing some now, her scrubs tight across her middle, though not enough that she needed to go up a size. Just something extra which, before the shooting, did not look at all as though it was weighing her down. But the weight pressing Cristina down was not just pressing on her abdomen, she was burdened from head to toe.

"What time is it?" Cristina asked, laying her head down on Meredith's shoulder. And Meredith struggled with jealousy over the context of the question. _How much longer before Owen gets off work?_


End file.
